LIBRARY OF CONGRESS, 

Chap Copyright No. 

>8^9 

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 




LY l^^'"^-^^'^ /-^"L^ O/ 



g 



M^J^^^i 



Green Mountain Chimes, 



FRANK J. Mcdonald. 



Author of 'Gail Donner;' ^'Bellaire^^ tU, 



BOSTON : 
WILLIAM WALLACE RICH. PuaLttHm, 

14 DWHSTABLt StR«€T. 

1899. 



TWO COPIES HECElVfiD. 

Library of CongrGi% 
Qfflce of the 

Beglater of CopyrlgfifSr 



T6 3^^^/ 

52404 



Entered according to Act of Congress, in tlie year 1899, 

Bv WILLIAM WALLACE RICH, 

In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, D. C, 



SfcG^isJ COf»Y« 






THIS HUMBLE VOLUME 
IS DEDICATED to 

Mr, & Mrs. ''Fred" Marcy, 

OF EDEN, VERMONT, 

As a token of the author's remembrance and 

appreciation of their friendship in the 

past, as well as an expression of 

admiration of their unpretentious 

and substantial solicitude 

for the welfare of those 

overtaken by life's 

attendant ills 

and 
misfortunes. 



PREFACE. 



fN THIS latest intrusion upon the- Public, for 
a preliminary, an apology is deemed less 
advisable than an explanation in as much as 
concession might, in its repetition, fail to merit 
acceptance. 

The chaos of diversity existing- in the subse- 
quent pages originated in the error of mingling 
with the polished children of sterner years, the 
ragged but no less loved urchins of an earlier 
creation, at the hazard of offence — even at the 
risk of condemnation by a people who was ever 
sought more to interest than to amuse. 

Some of the verses, written at an age inconsis- 
tSBOit with the themes represented, appear as rustic 
and uncouth as they did that troubled day when 
the untutored mind first attempted to voice the 
soul's refutation and repudiation of agencies de- 
lucive and detrimental to advancement — the 
heart's demonstrations of approval of the good 
and true and longing for the sapient and sanative : 
others have been tinkered but with poor success. 
The rhythmic forge refused to mend with the steady 



6 PREFACE. 

Stroke of manhood, the springing shaft of youth. 
Out of the debris the battered remnants were 
plucked. 

In the v/hole should ouc^ht be found of sufncient 
Y/orth to merit the approbation of the reader — 
something to cheer earth's pilgrim, allay his fears, 
dispel his wrongs, lighten his cares, or deepen his 
interest of life and his love of fellowmen, the mis- 
sion is not in vain. 

F. J. M. 

Boston, Mass., June ist, 1S99. 






I N DEX 



Advice 

Age . 

After He Had Gone 

A Hope 

Answer 

Apostrophe to Memory 

Apostrophe to Prayer 

A Song 

Berries In The Grass 

Better Go Around 

Change 

Changes 

Charity 

Despondency and Hope 

Destiny 

Don't Give Up . 

Faith 

Farmer Smith's Religion 

Fear Not . 

For Gold . 

Give Back The Past . 

Hope 

In a Few More Days . 

It Isn't That Way . 

Lack of Leaders * 

Lamenting 

Let Me Sleep 

Lost .... 

Lost Innocence 

Love 

Meet Me At The Station With The Team 

Misplaced Talent 

Moral 

My First District School 

Nature's Power 



8 INDEX. 

Nell 86 

Not All 53 

Pat-Riot-Ism ........ 30 

Prayer ......... 96' 

Pull Against The Stream 78 

Question ......... 61 

Kegret 98 

Sailing On The Waters of Sin ..... 52 

Saying and Doing ^4 

Sing Me A Song ....... 93 

The Altars of Men 37 

The Brave Heart 14 

The Brook (^5 

The Christmas Gift . 81 

The Difference 26 

The Gladdest Showers 27 

The Light of Home 73 

The Little Appletree 63 

The Little Things of Life 16 

The Old Elm Tree 49 

The Old Man's Maxims ...... 97 

There Will Be 89 

The Voice of Conscience ...... 101 

The World's Treasure 18 

To-morrow ........ 28 

True Prayer 68 

Two Apples 77 

Two Kisses ,.,...,. 52 

Unlooked-for Happenings ro 

Vermont 23 

Virtue t;9 

What We All Like To Hear 80 

When To Pray . . . . . . . . 75 

When We Are Rich 34 

When \Ve Grow Old 35 

Where Are They ? 57 

Whispering Voices ....... 56 

Who Would Care To Live ? 43 

You Cannot Bribe The Soul 43 

You Could Not Know . . . . . . 1 06 

Youth 46 

Youth 48 




Yet, give me the ship 

That has breasted the gale 



P^Gti 15. 



PO K M S . 



FAITH. 

If we believe like the child in the things unseen 
All our fields and woods will be ever green, 
The eye may feast on the gorgeous sheen, 
And the loaded boughs will toward us lean. 

HOPE. 

It will still the throb of the bounding heart ; 
It will dry the eye where the tear-drops start ; 
It can free the breast from its pain and smart, 
And cure the wound of earth's cruelest dart. 

CHARITY. 

From the burdened breast it will banish shame, 
And the heart caress which a world could blame ; 
It can light the soul with a brighter flame 
Than the taper's glare in the hand of Fame. 

LOVE. 

It will bring a light to the darkened soul, 
And in the brightness there unroll 
The treasure-sheet of the poet's scroll, 
And songs of rapture will from it roll. 



10 GREEN MOUNTAIN CHIMES. 



UNLOOKED-FOR HAPPENINGS. 

The latest and greatest wonder 
Is a thing of the long-ago 

That was left to pass 

By the motley mass 

In the world's harassing flow. 

The grumbling and rumbling thunder 

Leaves never a sign to show 

That its fearful voice 

Makes some land rejoice — 
Some realm of ice and snow. 
The strongest and wrongest blunder 
May deep in its bosom stow 

Some good to come 

To a sorrowing one — 
Some blessing that none could know. 
The brightest and whitest is under, 

Best seen when the winds will blow. 

By the hand once stung 

There's a taper hung, 
And a signal swung below, 

For others young, 

With garlands hung 
Near the joys among life's woe. 

The nearest and dearest flowers 

Shall be missed from the heart's domain; 
But at the last 
When the night is passed — 
The night of blast and pain — 
The maddest and gladest hours 

Will return in an endless train, 



GREEN MOUNTAIN CHIMES. 11 

And the soul bowed low 

With care and woe 
Will rejoice and glow again. 
The oldest and coldest bowers 

Will be loaded with flowers and grain 

That will blush anew 

In the morning dew 
When the sky is blue again; 
For unbidden and hidden powers 

Are weighing the loss and the gain; 

And the soul that was wrung, 

Like the soul that had sung, 
Will be sweetly swung from pain 

With praises sung 

By a garrulous tongue 
When its hopes are young again. 



ADVICE. 

If the world is your debtor 

It is hard to collect. 
If there's something for nothing 

You should strc^igly suspect; 
On the bright shore rf Promise 

Many vessels ha-, e wrecked. 
Beware of fast colors- Ihe silk and the sheen; 
Keep your gold and afiections till the inside is seen. 

With the laws of your rulers 

You should ever comply; 
Their day of compulsion 

Will steal swiftly by; 



'12 GREEN MOUNTAIN CHIMES. 

There's a spring called The Future 

That never runs dry; 
-Its waters can slacken the thirst of your cares, 
And wash from your bosom the grief that it bears. 

If Piety's idol 

Be set up in town 
Where the column of Virtue 

Is slyly cast down, 
Don't scoff at the actions 
Of the supplicant clown, 

But point him, in kindness, to Chastity's way. 
And lead him to ponder before he will pray. 

With the eye of affection 

View faults of mankind; 
Should your own rich apparel 

Be padded and lined, 
Spread out the silk mantle — 

The gem of your mind — 
O'er earth's straying children, that wander away. 
In the gloom of sin's shadow, f tom Virtue's bright ray. 

If the soul be a-weary 

The only true rest 
Is in sharing with others 

The things that have blest, 
And in biding the promise 

Of Time's throbbing breast; 
Loud supplication may serve the weak mind, 
But the supplicant often has axes to grind. 

If your day darkens quickly, 

And time hurries on, 
Gaze not disheartened 

Toward Life's horizon; 



GREEN MOUNTAIN CHIMES. la 

Night's darkest hour 

Is just before dawn- 
There was never a measure, even filled to the brim, 
But held drops of Pleasure after Sorrow poured in. 



MISPLACED TALENT. 

One time in a town far away, 

A man thought he must have his "say." 

(He owned a good farm, by the way,) 

His front name was Clayte, 

While his mate's name was Kate, 

And he often would prate 
How the farming estate didn't pay. 
So he sought to write verses one day, 

He got out a book, 

With an important look, 
And was sure it had "took" right away. 

He neglected his cattle ; 

His wife fought the battle. 

She never got rattled. 
She earned the collateral to pay. 
In a poetical sort of a way 
He scoffed at her rural display. 
He assured her the volume would pay, 
And declared he had come out to stay. 

The grammatical errors were "great" 
Still his characters each had a mate ; 

And they stood 'neath the stars. 

By the gate or the bars ; 
(Most always they stood by the gate) 



U GREEN MOUNTAIN CHIMES. 

But they stood there so late 

That he lost his estate, 

And the bread from the plate and the shelf; 

So, at last, to the mate of himself, 

He said "Patient Kate 

It is now rather late 

For your Clayte to *git onto himself." 
For tarrying Fate 
No longer I'll wait, 

I'll "git a gait onto myself". 

Now he drives home the kine as of yore, 
With no beam from the rhyme's soothingjlore, 
With no dream of the bard's golden shore 

Where Fame's dames had pointed 

With thumbs double-jointed. 
He doesn't care to go there any more. 



THE BRAVE HEART. 

To do anything great 

We must labor on strong 

Till the sweetness of life is all past, 
At a maddening gait 

We must hurry along 

Heeding neither the storm nor the blast. 

We may not stop to view 

The sweet roses of June, 

Nor list to the brook babbling by, 
For, so sure, if we do 

We shall learn the gay tune, 

And drop the world's task with a sigh. 



GREEN MOUNTAIN CHIMES. 16 

Yet, give me the ship 

That has breasted the gale 

When the weaker their anchors let drop, 
For I see in the dip 

Of its white swelling sail, 

A courage no tempest could stop. 

It would chafe in the chains 
Of increasing defeat 

Till the links were all severed apart, 
And then through the rains 

And the summer's red heat 

Strive on from the weaker apart. 

Brave one on thy breast, 

In earth's darkest night, 

I behold blazing grand from afar, 
In the place of thy rest, 

Shining softly and bright, 

The jewel of heaven's choice star. 



LOST INNOCENCE. 

Oft have I watched you 

When you deemed no presence nigh. 
Where buds of amber sipped the crystal dew, 

And stars, none purer than your heart and eye, 
Looked downward, smiling in the zephyr's breath. 

On my spirit ling'ring by your earthly door, 
For the soul's bright treasure, not for sin and death, 

Evils which I now deplore. 



16 GREEN MOUNTAIN CHIMES. 

You have lost that charm 

Which innocence alone can give, 
And although you have done me no harm, 

If life should be lengthened — if we should live 
Till the amorous sun refused to kiss again 

The blushing cheek of this earthly shore, 
I still would think of you with pain, 

Never, never as of yore. 

But on the throbbing breast of Time's distant isle, 

Where all that is now shall forgotten be. 
There will you greet me with the strange sweet smile 

That first in its wonder drew my soul to thee, 
With no mem'ry of the blight now sund'ring us apart, 

Our barque will glide onward without sail or oar, 
Down the stream of years, when my aching heart 

Will know you as before. 



THE LITTLE THINGS OF LIFE. 

The simple coral working 

In his cell so quietly 
Rears up the lofty granite wall 

Above the angry sea, 
The forests and the rocks and hills, 

With nature's voices rife. 
Are calling out for men to heed 

The little things of life. 

The man who spends his energies 

Accumulating shares, 
And adding to his heavy load 

Each day a host of cares, 



GREEN MOUNTAIN CHIMES. 17 

Never realizes, in the 

Long-continued strife, 
That the roses in man's pathway 

Are the little things of life. 

When all too strong our hearts and souls 

Are centered upon gain, 
The beauties of God's smiling earth 

Are scattered 'round in vain ; 
We exchange the choicest treasures 

For the bawbles of the strife. 
And never learn the value 

Of the little things of life. 

When some one blessed with millions 

Rears a school or orphan home, 
The people place his sculptured bust 

Upon the lofty dome. 
The jingle of the penny. 

Bravely earned in Labor's strife, 
Is stifled by the thunder 

Of the greater things of life. 

The loud and shallow orator 

Will charm and often sway, 
The crowd that never listens 

To what men of sense would say ; 
The thunder of the cannon 

Drowns the voice of drum and fife. 
Still, the sounds that lead the soldier 

Are the softer notes of life. 

The warrior, at the nation's shrine, 

Is worshiped for the strife, 
While no one lauds the valor 



18 GREEN MOUNTAIN CHIMES. 

Of his patient, toiling wife ; 
The sword holds higher honor 

Than the scythe or pruning knife, 
But the blocks that build a nation 

Are the little things of life. 



THE WORLD'S TREASURE. 

World, I seek no favor from thy faithless hand. 
Thou hast dealt harshly with me ; still I stand 

Dauntless as before 
That day on which I felt thy searing brand ; 
From thy many wrongs, my future way is planned ; 
I'll plod no farther in thy treacherous sand ; 

I love thee no more. 

When I sought thy altar for thy gifts divine, 
In years gone by, of thy promise fine 

I had not yet learned ; 
The glit'ring bawbles on thy brazen shrine, 
The tinsel fabrics of a storied Rhine, 
The spurious brilliants from a fabled mine, 

I should then have spurned. 

In the murky waters of the darkened past 
These worthless bawbles have long since been cast, 

I seek them no more. 
Of their transient grandeur I learned at last; 
It vanished quickly in the storm and blast; 
Prom its cursed memory, I hurry fast 

To joys known before. 



GREEN MOUNTAIN CHIMES. 19 

I search no farther in thy pilfered nest 

For shallow trinkets in a false garb dressed ; 

Trust in thee is dead. 
The years already spent in earnest quest 
Have brought no rapture to my longing breast ; 
For all I suffered heed your own behest — 

Give to me a bed. 

For this small measure, which thou canst not deny, 
Keep the soul's lost treasure, keep the heart's pure sigh, 

Thou hadst these from me. 
I can give no tear-drop, for the source is dry ; 
Too long thy falseness filled this burning eye, 
For it to moisten at the last good-by 

Between me and thee. 



NATURE'S POWER. 

Oh, train of sacred music ! 

Oh, summer-song of trees ! 
The dancing of the rain-drops, 

The sunlight and the breeze. 
These powers of earnest gladness. 

Still falling 'round above, 
Will press the weary pilgrim 

When none else seem to love. 

The whisp'ring, nodding branches, 
By dreary pathways placed, 

Will blot with glist'ning dewdrops 
The tracks by false feet traced. 



20 GREEN MOUNTAIN CHIMES. 

The brooklet's gentle murmur, 
Like the cooing of the dove, 

Will speak the soul o'erburdened 
That none else seems to love. 

In years of sorrow passing 

Things gleamed from Nature's breast, 
To the soul with Hope's-tree blasted, 

Are truest, dearest, best ; 
Despite the false world's promise 

These alone have power to move 
The heart, benumbed and weary, 

That will not — cannot love. 



FARMER SMITH'S RELIGION. 

Farmer Smith's religion 

Wasn't very orthodox, 
An' his quaint idee of dressin' 

Drove his pants inside his socks ; 
But the poor about the boro' 

Had free access to his ben, 
For his door was always opened 

To the call of honest men. 

At the church he liked the sermon. 

And he liked to hear them sing. 
Only whin they talked o'burnin' 

That was quite another thing. 
He had looked the business over, 

But had failed to see the p'int. 
In the plan of their salvation 

There seemed somethin' out of j'int. 




"To the soul witli Hope's-tree blasted 



Pac;e 20. 



GREEN MOUNTAIN CHIMES. 21 

Now, in the course o' Natur', 

He could see the rise an' fall 
O' the mist-cloud an' the raindrop, 

Just the same for one an' all. 
They might preach agin' th' nat'ral 

Untill time for cutting hay. 
But he'd bet a load o' pumkins 

He should^think the same old way. 

There was somethin' sort o' soothin' 

In the singin' o' the hem, 
An' he often sot an' listened 

With his oldest daughter Clem' ; 
But whin it come to preachin' 

O' the spirit's future strife, 
He knowed their brains was muddled — 

Yes he knowed it on his life. 

He had seen the corn and taters 

Grow and flourish fur a day. 
An' the next year, in the sunshine. 

Come and go the same old way ; 
He had seen his good wife, Marthy, 

Cross where none come back to tell, 
An' he didn't give a '<hooter" 

'Bout the picter of their hell. 

If the wonderous God o' mercy, 

'Bout whom they prayed and preached, 
Had fixed a place o' torture. 

Like the one the Bible teached. 
For the souls of wives like Marthy 

Why, he wouldn't cut his hay. 
An' it wouldn't be surprisin' 

If the milk turned into whey. 



22 GREEN MOUNTAIN CHIMES. 

But he'd go the same to meetin', 

An' he'd listen to the plan 
As meek as Deacon Spencer 

Or his daughter, Mary Ann. 
He liked to see the children, 

An' to hear the choir sing, 
But that idee of damnation. 

No, that didn't go, by-jing. 

He knowed it wasn't nat'ral 

Jest fur him a common man. 
Whin a servant tripped and stumbled 

To adopt the Gospel's plan. 
An' drive him to tarnation 

Into everlasting pain ; 
It looked so much like vengeance 

That it did'nt fit his brain. 

He'd gynn the poor his earnin's 

An' his cattle an' his crop. 
While the good folks prayed, and staid them 

With a spiritual prop. 
Not to work his own salvation 

Did he spread his grain and hay. 
He thought it more substantialer 

Than jest to kneel and pray. 

But if the Lord o' mercies 

Couldn't see it as he did, 
Fur the storied home in heaven 

He should make no other bid. 
He felt if heaven's Rulers 

Dealt with everybody square, 
They'd let him meet his Marthy 

Though he wasn't much on prayer. 



GREEN MOUNTAIN CHIMES. 23 



VERMONT. 

Vermont, I love your fountains, grand. 

Your fields of waving grain. 
Your valleys and your mountains fanned 

By blasts from old Champlain ; 
I dearly love your forests where 

My boyhood treasure grew, 
In autumn Nature's limner, there, 

Spread paints of every hue. 
Your river crooks, your busy brooks 

Sing sweetly in their glee, 
And softer beams the eye that looks 

Upon your verdancy. 
The sons of Slavery's darksome strand. 

Where whip and shambles daunt. 
No longer stand a fettered band 

In your fair land, Vermont. 

The poet's pen may raise the boast 

Of dynasties sublime ; 
It may march the nation's slumb'ring host 

Along the Vale of Time ; 
But, in your rugged vineyard, fair, 

I am content to :>tay. 
And from September's bounty rare 

Glean harvests so.vn in May. 
Through all the strife, that years may bring, 

Beneath the heavens blue 
You'll gently press those slumbering 

In robes of that same hue. 
Of Ireland's fear, of England's beer 

The laureate bard may vaunt. 



24 GREEN MOUNTAIN CHIMES. 

But my weak cheer shall echo here 
For ever-dear Vermont. 

On Memory's highest branches grave 

The letters V and t, 
They stand for Truth and Virtue, save 

The 'nitial-wounded tree. 
The angry blasts which often hark 

From Nature (stern old dame) 
But fan the bosom's slumb' ring spark 

To bright and deathless flame. 
The virgin's cheek is brighter hued 

When, on the driving blast, 
Sweet Freedom's notes, with love imbued. 

Is from her bosom cast 
To hearts of swain, in meadows where 

Is garnered every want ; 
Their earnest prayer to lay them there 

When done with care, Vermont. 

When this poor spirit, lone, has crossed 

To join the silent train, 
May every hope of earth it lost 

With Vermont's host remain. 
When other pilgrims stray along 

By Faith (fair mistress) led. 
Oh, may the poet weave his song 

Of sorrow near my bed ! 
Sweet then I'll rest in slumber strong, 

Through Time's eternity. 
Perchance to wake and join the throng 

<' My Country 'tis of Thee." 
That rest, in dreams, your tow'ring hills, 

Your vales and streams may haunt ; 
Though the lethe no memory thrills, 

I'll hear your rills, Vermont. 



GREEN MOUNTAIN CHIMES. 25 

In this long rest, if vital breath 

The silent tomb would brave ; 
Oh, should the phantom Ship of Death 

Sail back on Life's still'd wave. 
And from its deck upon the strand. 

To earth the freight return. 
Still, in my bosom, Memory's brand 

For you would brightly burn ! 
My wakened eye would wander high 

In quest of mountains green, 
If in the rivers flowing by 

Appeared no rustic sheen. 
From nature's string, on soaring wing, 

Sweet strains my way would haunt 
Till to your spring again I'd bring 

My cup and sing, Vermont. 



TWO KISSES. 

I kissed her one night 

In the moon's pale light — 

I kissed her and then we parted. 

She watched ma journey into the night. 

When I walked away in the moon's pale light, 

With a heavy heart, but a footstep light, 

Out on life's voyage started. 

I kissed her one day 

In the sunshine of May 

Near the spot where we once had parted. 

Her trembling heart on my bosom pressed 

Confirmed the tale that her eyes expressed ; 

Each heart knew it was greater blest 

Than if we had never Darted. 



GREEN MOUNTAIN CHIMES. 



FEAR NOT. 

Fear not in the coming morrow 

A storm that may never break, 
For, swift to the soul of sorrow, 

Some joy a journey may take, 
To assuage the gnawing canker. 

And with potent linger caress. 
And to break the dead chain of the anchor 

Of sorrow and sin and distress. 

The coldest and darkest shadow, 

That the lowering heavens can cast. 
In its passage over the meadow 

Brings strength to the flowers and grass. 
The blades that stand up the longest 

Have been swayed and bent by the gale, 
And the hearts that beat bravest and strongest 

Have been scarred by the frost and the hail. 



THE DIFFERENCE. 

I knew a thoughtless, happy poet ; 

He could sing but did't know it ; 

He was good, but couldn't show it ; 

When he drank, whew ! how he'd go it ! 
His praises, always very small, 
Dwindled down to none at all. 



GREEN MOUNTAIN CHIMES. 27 

I knew another — he was " in it ;" 
He could pray " a mile a minit " 

He didn't drink — he swore " agin " it ; 
On the sly, though, how he'd "pin it!" 

He got the praise of all ; 

The people loved him great and small. 

I knew a man of forty-seven ; 

If you owed him nine, he'd take eleven ; 

He prayed, at times, from six till seven ; 

He died, and went, of course, to Heaven, 
Everybody knew that well. 
The church proclaimed it in his knell. 

There was another lived that way, 

He didn't make the poor man pay 

Till after he had cut his hay. 

He didn't very often pray. 

When they pulled his funeral bell-cord 
Creed's white finger pointed hellward. 



THE GLADDEST SHOWERS. 

Now summer showers brighten 

All the fields with all their flowers. 
And the heart is filled with rapture 

While they fall ; 
But the rain that fell in boyhood — 
In those swiftly-passing hours, 
Were the maddest, gladdest showers 
Of them all. 



28 GREEN MOUNTAIN CHIMES. 

It danced upon the house-top, 

And it whispered through the hours 
Till the soul, wrapped deep in slumber, 

Heard its call. 
It broke with whispering gladness 

All the night's dread, omaous powers, 
The maddest, gladdest showers 
Of them ail. 

What chains of love and friendship 

Still bind with magic powers 
The soul, though Time's cruel finger 

Touches all. 
Oh, brave hearts, crushed and broken, 
I can hear your dumb grief spoken 
In the maddest, gladdest showers 
Of them all. 



TO-MORROW. 

To-morrow, to-morrow, to-morrow. 
To-morrow some hope may die. 

Oh, glad to-morrow ! 

Oh, sad to-morrow ! 
To-morrow some joy may fly. 

To-morrow, to-morrow, to-morrow, 
To-morrow, mysterious day ! 

The broken wing 

And the conquered king 
You have bidden go your way. 



GREEN MOUNTAIN CHIMES. 29 

To-morrow, to-morrow, to-morrow, 
To-morrow some heart may break — 

Some heart of care 

That could not bear 
The burdens a world would make. 

To-morrow, to-morrow, to-morrow, 
To-morrow, dear, looked-for day, 

Your cruel powers 

Oft blight the flowers 
That bloom along life's way. 

To-morrow, to-morrow, to-morrow. 
To-morrow, sweet hope of life, 

Your golden rays 

Are born of days 
Forgotten in toil and strife. 

To-morrow, tomorrow, to-morrow, 
To-morrow, oh, word of dread ! 

In yonr treach'rous hand 

Th^ things once planned 
Lie now and forever dead. 

To-morrow, to-morrow, to-morrow. 
To-morrow, sweet rill of song. 

Your golden dreams — 

Your hidden streams 
Are bearing the weak along. 

To-morrow, to-morrow, to-morrow, 
To-morrow some drooping flower 

May find a rest 

In your silent breast 
Now broken by earth's power. 



30 GREEN MOUNTAIN CHIMES. 



*PAT-RIOT-ISM. 

They were talking very funny 

About politics and money— 
Of rhymes and stirring stories by the pleasant muses sung, 

When one struck an Irish ditty 

With a shade of Yankee pity, 
Then the other said, "Begorra, you had better hold your tongue 

"Faith, Oi'm in the mood for saying. 

Without hindrance or delaying. 
What Oi'd hesitate to banther if me temper wasn't riled." 

"Well, tell me, Mr. Connor, 

Upon your word of honor, 
The other ventured slowly to his partner while he smiled, 

"Was it with an intent wicked 

That you held the Tariff Ticket 
In your fingers last election when your honest vote you polled ?f 

It was not, and Oi'm sorry, 

It was owing to the hurry 
Of the business in me section — so it was, upon me sowld. 

" But is it more nor human 

That Oi'd shelther me old woman 
From the chilly blasts of winther which on 'lection quickly ride 

We're both up near the eighties, 

And with buying, tay and praties 
Ain't Oi justified in kaping the good guvner on me side 1 



♦Patriotism. 



GREEN MOUNTAIN CHIMES. 31 

Oi'U pray for his salvation 

If the divil takes the nation, — 

May the howly saints protict this ginerous man ; 
You'll not be such a soljer 
Whin you grow a little older, 

You will fall back sure, but nately from the van. 

If you injure me care-rack-ter, 

Now or any time hereafther 
Oi'U post you as a blackguard, clayne and nate ; 

So moind, me friend, no capers, 

Shure^ Oi'U find you out, Bejabers, 
Andfirninst the bar of justice you'll stand thrate." 



IN A FEW MORE DAYS. 

In a few more days 

Forgetfulness will come, and we 

Shall miss the rays — 

The fleets of youth — the childhood glee 
Will sail from sight on care's dark sea, 
The grander hopes of life will flee 

In a few more days. 

In a few more days 

The things we sought by earnest stroke, 

That men might praise — 

The sermon that we loudly spoke. 
The solemn vow, the promise broke 
Will vanish in oblivion's smoke 

In a few more days. 



32 GREEN MOUNTAIN CHIMES. 

In a few more days 

The hand that we so fondly pressed, 
The flowers, the Mays 

The form that we had oft caressed. 

In beauty's garb so gaily dressed 

These, all, will know a truer rest 
In a few more days. 

In a few more days 

The heart which many gems has lost, 

Without Hope's rays 

Will near the stream where they have crossed 
And view the waves which oft have tossed 
The choicest freight of earthly cost, 

In a few more days. 

In a few more days 

The eyes that long have wept will close ; 
Their weary gaze 

Will search no more afar for those 

Forms that lie 'neath deep'ning snows ; 

The sleepless heart will know repose 
In a few more days. 



CHANGE. 

An aged man in the waning light, 

Sat with his dog and cat 
His thoughts went back to a by-gone night 

When a loved one near him sat. 
Side by side through the summer heat 
They had brushed the dews with hurrying feet. 




" Farmer Smith's religion 

Wasn't verv orthodox." 

Pa(.k 20. 



gr?:en mountain chimes. 83 

But now the feet in the worn shoes 

Forgot all that weariness, 
And the heart, borne back on memory's cruise, 

Glowed 'neath the torn vest. 
There glistened the pearls of Love and Woe 
On the shabby garlands of long ago. 

With a trembling hand on his forehead braced 

He watched the visions pass by, 
Among them a maiden vv^th beauty graced, 

And love in her sparkling eye. 
Clad in garments of purest white ; 
He knew her — the bride of another night 1 

The firelight flickered, the picture passed. 
The watcher shivered and sighed, 

Then arose in the room and feebly asked 
Why this loved one, too, had died. 

"It is only a boon in the ruling plan, " 

Spoke a voice from the gloom to the poor old man. 

" The change so strange is not fraught with pain, 

And it raises the burden of age ; 
To the sorrowing soul it opens again 

The wonderful childhood page. 
The seed of the fruit and the golden grain. 
When garnered with care, will live again. 

*' There's life in death, and there's joy in pain, 
To the restless heart, and the fevered brain. 
What was before will be again ; 
The links are sound in the golden chain, 
And the source of love will never drain ; 
The hand of Death, with a sad refrain, 
Only turns Life's pages over again." 



34 GREEN MOUNTAIN CHIMES. 



WHEN WE ARE RICH. 

While you ha.ve a shining dollar 

You may realize a wish ; 
Should the sum grow any smaller 

You must turn out in the ditch ; 
On a million, you can " waller" 

With your front feet in the dish ; 
And your friends can bawl and holler 

" In the swim" with larger fish ; 
They can stretch a trifle taller, 

And pretend they, too, are rich ; 
In your footsteps they can "foller" 

With a regimental hitch. 

In the sanctum of Salvation 

You may have the cushioned seat, 
And assured of your approbation, 

You may lie or steal or cheat. 
Folks will " Mister" your relation. 

If his Christion name is "Pete ;" 
And on every great occasion, 

He can ride and drag his feet. 

In the wilds of Education 

You won't have to toil and sweat : 
On your anserine oration 

Your predacious boss will bet. 
At the highest female station 

You will be the ladies' pet ; 
You can give a long vacation 

To ail those who tease or fret : 



GREEN MOUNTAIN CHIMES. 35 

When they get you out of patience 
^ All you have to say is " Get," 
Or just call upon the nation 

To drive out the "tarnal set." 
At the fashionable libation 

Near your plate the wine they'll set ; 
There's no fear of condemnation, 

For the preachers' prayer you'll get ; 
And the lord of all creation 

You can buy or sell or let. 

You can gather the collection 

At the meeting or the mass ; 
And all your poor connection 

You can easily let pass. 
You need not fear'detection 

You may sport with every lass, 
It won't injure your complexion 

If you use a little brass ; 
You'Jl be cliosen at election, 

When all know you are an ass ; 
In a Democratic section, 

You may walk upon the grass ; 
You don't have to be perfection 

To reach Heaven on a pass. 



WHEN WE GROW OLD. 

There's a burden more to bear 
Of sorrow, grief and care ; 
Each step a higher stair 
Awaits the weary soul. 



36 GREEN MOUNTAIN CHIMES. 

There's a larger debt to pay, 
While darker grows the way, 
This is why some watch and pray 
When they grow old. 

The maiden was a lass, 

The years more quickly pass, 

E'en the flowers change, alas ! 

In winter's cold. 
Still again the roses bloom 
On the long-forgotten tomb. 
Sunlight seeks the silent room 

When we grow old. 

Some bind their sorrows fast. 
To the splintered, broken mast, 
And drift out from the Past 

So dark and cold ; 
Others raise the voice and sing 
Praise to Heaven and a King 
Where to fold the weary wing 

When they grow old. 

Each December has its June, — 
Every evening has a noon ; 
Shall night be left no moon 

With light of gold ? 
Still remains Youth's golden day, 
Where the troubled throng may stay, 
Where the weary feet will stray 

When we grow old. 



GREEN MOUNTAIN CHIMES. 37 



THE ALTARS OF MEN. 

I sat by the hearth of an unknown world 

When the years of life began, 
And watched the smoke as it grandly curled 

From the altars built by man. 
The pleasant spot where I sat was bright; 

And through all the livelong day, 
My soul was tilled wdth a glowing light, 

And the stars made the night like day. 
I was happy then for I had not been 

To the altars of men to pray. 

But the time soon came when a dimpled hand 

Beckoned me far away. 
I plodded on through the deepening sand 

Till the close of that summer day ; 
In the gloom of eve, I neared the gate 

Whose key was easily turned, 
And found myself by the golden plate 

Where Vvorldb/ incense burned. 
Then I knew not the fame, nor the gilded name 

Of the dame my steps had turned. 

I thought me again of the happy day. 

And longed my way to trace ; 
How sadly and soon it had passed away 

In the world's uneven race ! 
Then Love, a siren of the realm new, 

Touched me with her wand. 
She gave me a seat in her cushioned pew — 

She smiled on me, and fawned ; 
Then she grew, 'neath the sky of blue' 

Something new and grand. 



38 GREEN MOUNTAIN CHIMES. 

But all through that night in the arms of love 

My soul could find no rest ; 
The moon moved the same in the heavens above, 

But a fire burned in my breast. 
Then I sought our Fame, and beheld her there 

Ail beautiful to the sight ; 
And my lips quick moved in an earnest prayer 

To direct my thoughts aright. 
But all had gone before the dawn ; 

There was none in the morning light. 

Then Wealth, with its treasure all untold, 

Lifted my trembling hand, 
And filled the palm with a shower of gold, 
On the wrist placed a glit'ring band. 
In the visions grand, of a restless sleep, 

I waited for the dawn; 
But awoke in the morn and began to weep. 

For the treasure all was gone. 
It was then a dream ; and the morning beam 
With a silent gleam moved on. 

With sorrow rife in my aching breast, 

I fled from the hateful place. 
And sadly sought a haven of rest 

In the earlier happy grace. 
Over the hills I could see, afar. 

Youth's beauteous, fiov, 'ry dell ; 
But the clouds of Age covered moon and star, 

And the storm of years then fell. 
I gazed on the sky, with a failing eye. 

And began to cry in the dcil. 

In the absent hour, my early joy 
Had passed from earth away ; 



GREEN MOUNTAIN CHIMES. 39 

The sweet content of the thoughtless boy 

Had fled in that eager day. 
With a feeble voice, I called again 

In the storm of the darksome day ; 
But a voice from the smoke of the altars of men 

Said the joy had gone to stay — 
That the perfect joy, of the trustful boy, 

Was a toy not found alway. 



LET ME SLEEP. 

With the things I love the best 

Let me sleep. 
In Nature's solemn breast 

Let me sleep. 
In the dell with flowers dressed ; 
By the moon and stars caressed ; 
Where the song-bird builds his nest 

Let me sleep. 

Chorus: 

Earthly shadows o'er my heavy eyelids creep, 

Let me sleep. 
Let me sleep upon the shore where waves may weep. 

In silence strong and deep, 

Where stars their still watch keep, 
I would toil and weep no more; 

Stronger hearts may sow and reap ; 
With the friends I loved before 

Let me sleep. 



40 GREEN MOUNTAIN CHIMES. 

After all the strife is past, 

Let me sleep. 
In darkness deep and fast 

Let me sleep. 
With the sails off every mast. 
With the anchor safely cast ; 
Heedless of the chilling blast, 

Let me sleep. 

In dreams of things gone by 

Let me sleep. 
For no vanished hope I sigh, 

Let me sleep. 
All we love must fade and die ; — 
Darker clouds are drawing nigh, 
Sleep will dry the Vv'eeping eye. 
Let me sleep. 

As a rest from toil and care, 

Let me sleep. 
Softly through the noontide glare, 

Let me sleep. 
Plopes now lost are surely there ; 
To escape the tempter's snare. 
Close beside the true and fair. 

Let me sleep. 

Fold these timid, weary hands ; 

Let me sleep. 
Bind the heart with iron bands ; 

Let me sleep. 
Cool the brow with zephyr fans. 
Drive away all earthly plans ; 
This inheritance is man's ; 

Let me sleep. 



GREEN MOUNTAIN CHIMES. 41 

Bear all earthly hopes away — 

Let me sleep. 
Through the beauty of the day, 

Let me sleep. 
Where the billows dash the spray, 
Where the pilgrim feet may stray. 
In the dawn so still and grey 

Let me sleep. 

Close this dim and aching eye, 

Let me sleep. 
Through the night of by-and-by. 

Let me sleep. 
In sweet slumber would I lie 
On the wing that soars so high, 
Where the brooklet babbles by. 

Let me sleep. 

All the lost will be again, 

Let me sleep. 
There will come no throb of pain, 

Let me sleep, 
It will mend the riven chain, 
And the strengthened links again 
Can bind the fevered brain. 

Let me sleep. 



BETTER GO AROUND. 

A'man once started boldly out 
::. To cross to Fortune's shore. 
Although he heard the favored shout, 
No way could he get o'er. 



42 GREEN MOUNTAIN CHIMES. 

He saw the boasted treasure shine 

Across the river's tide; 
But by the world's tempestuous Rhine 

His efforts were defied. 
Though oft, in youthful dreams of play 

He'd crossed it at a bound ; 
Strange in Age's weary way 

He'd have to go around. 

He started honest in the fight 

To mount the golden throne ; 
And labored hard both day and night 

To make the world his own. 
He always walked the narrow path 

If he was not alone, 
But kept aloof the threatening wrath 

And never did atone- 
At last he crossed the laws' swift stream; 

And when his tracks v/ere found, 
He wished he'd followed Virtue's beam. 

And ahvays gone around. 

Too soon came on the tide of years, 

He wished his v/ays to change ; 
He stepped at last, despite of fears. 

Where earth's white-robed ones range. 
The worldly hand had held him oft 

Beneath those angels' tread. 
But in Religion's rays so soft 

He safe, sought Glory's bed. 
He bribed the priest and saintly band 

To help him o'er the sound ; 
But when Old Satan took his hand 

He wished that he'd gone 'round. 



GREEN MOUNTAIN CHIMES. 43 



WHO WOULD CARE TO LIVE? 

When cruel clouds of earth 

The steep paths darken, 
And the Star of Youth no light will give ; 
When to no voice of mirth 

The soul will harken, 
Who would care to live ! 

When the heart, once warm, 

Is chilled with sorrow, 
What but sleep can any respite give ? 
It can free from harm — 

From the dread to-morrow, 
Who would care to live! 

When all the songs are sung, 

And all the words are spoken, 

What is there more the world can give ? 

When the soul is wrung 

And the heart is broken 

Who would care to live ! 



YOU CANNOT BRIBE THE SOUL. 

When the heart is dull with pleasure, 
■^ Or with pain and care is cold, 
Still remains the inward treasure 
For you cannot bribe the soul. 



U GREEN MOUNTAIN CHIMES. 

Thoughts and dreams, unspoken, 

Run down memory's chain unbroken 

From the never-broken measure made of old. 

The ba-by's waxen fingers 

Touch again the mother's breast, 
In the memory that lingers 

Round the form so sweetly pressed. 
On the tides of pain or gladness 
Will Gome back each joy or sadness, 
That the life with patient fingers once caressed. 

In the days of strength and beauty 
To the glowing heart may come, 

The harsh voice of some duty 
Left an earlier time undone. 

With a strange menacing power 

It can blight the fairest flower — 

Hide its sweetest beauty from the sun. 

Unseen hands will weigh and measure. 

In a scale of highest mould. 
Every grain of pain or pleasure 

That the heart has bought or sold, 
To be kept forever ready 
In a balance sure and steady. 
That will gain a pain or pleasure for the soul. 



GIVE BACK THE PAST. 

O, World, in your hurry. 

One brief moment spare 




■ The angry blasts which often hark 
From Nature (stern old dame )." 

Page 24. 



GREEN MOUNTAIN CHIMES. 45 

To bring me the treasures 

I left in your care. 
You promised to keep them 

In your bosom locked fast, 
I will ask nothing further — 

Just the things of the Past. 



Have you hidden them deeply 

In Eternity's breast 
Where the soul with Death's secret 

Makes its own earnest quest ? 
Wealth, Fame and Honor 

Before you I cast, — 
Hide them forever 

But give back the Past. 



t>' 



I gave you the sweetness 

From Love's dimpled hand, 
And also the jewels 

In Friendship's bright band ; 
Now I come humbled 

And wearied at last 
From searching your darkness 

For the things of the Past. 

Their long-absent beauties 

May cost many sighs — 
May borrow a teardrop 

From these aching eyes, 
While over my spirit 

That sweet spell is cast 
When round it are gathered 

Those things of the Past. 



46 GREEN MOUNTAIN CHIMES. 

Yet would I have them — 

Caress them once more ; 
They'll bring back the voices 

From Youth's silent shore 
Where ships ride at anchor 

Never heeding the blast — 
I seek nothing further. 

Just the things of the Past. 



YOUTH. 

Youth, could I with thee remain, 
Early hopes would keep the stain 

Of the world away. 
On the wave of Manhood's sea. 
There my dim eye now must be ; 
In the race no longer free, 
Sadly I turn back to thee, 

Lost and fleeted day. 

For the things so good and true 
I have often given you, 

Without a word or sigh. 
Lead me. World, from Fame and Power ; 
Sing me back for one sweet hour ; 
Let me hear an April shower ; 
Let me pluck from May the flower 

Which I oft passed by. 

Humbly here alone I stand — 
Take my outstretched, trembling hand ; 
Lead me far away 



GREEN MOUNTAIN CHIMES. 

To the streams so swift and clear, 
To the woods so brown and sear, 
'Mong the leaves to laugh and cheer, 
With the friends so true and dear 
Let me once more stray. 

Quench the flick'ring lamp of Fame, 
Hide the gilded, worldly name, 

Take the band of pow'r — 
These are yours without a sigh. 
Sever now the weakened tie 
If this eager, aching eye 
May view the fields of days gone by 

Just one little hour. 



APOSTROPHE TO MEMORY. 

(From "Gail Donner.") 

O, Memory ! beautiful river 

Of the checkered Past ; bearer of a 

Canvas designed not by earthly skills ! 

You have led the heart, growing cold 'neath 

The slant beams of life's descending sun. 

Back where tha vertical rays make it 

Pulse and glow again. You have turned 

The barque from the barren Iceland of 

Age, and anchored it again on that 

Flow'r-strewn shore of youth, from whence it once 

Drifted calmly and unconsciously 

Away. 

You have made the captive in 
His dungeon feel in the hard, cold stone, 



48 GREEN MOUNTAIN CHIMES. 

On which his head reclined, the pulsing 
Of a heart which oft bear for him in 
The snowy bosom where his burning 
Temples once were pillowed, and, in the 
Clank of his broken chain, you sang him 
-Away to the glad hearthstone of his 
Happy home. 

You have permitted the 
Lover to fondle again the hand 
Rudely snatched by death from his caress. 
You have led the exile back over 
The seas — back to the " pleasant hillsides " 
Of his native land — back to the spot 
Where he had dreamed and where he had sighed, 
Where he had laughed and where he had cried — 
Back to the old home, to the churchyard, 
To the tomb ; and allowed his eye to 
Behold, and his longing arms to press, 
Once more, the beloved forms of by-gone 
And receding years. 



YOUTH. 

Oh, dancing, laughing river. 

On your mossy bank I'll stay. 

And with loved ones pluck the violets 
While you chatter on your way. 

AGE. 

Oh, dark and treach'rous river 

On your restless breast to-day, 

1 behold the phantom barges 
Bearing all my hopes away. 



GREEN MOUNTAIN CHIMES. 49 



THE OLD ELM TREE. 

In thy presence majestic 

What joys come to me ! 
My heart seeks thy shadows, 

Near thee I would be. 
For one hour, dear lost one, 

To stray back with thee 
In the cool, shifting shadows 

Of the old elm tree. 

We played there as children 

With no care or fear ; 
We first whispered friendship 

Then something more dear 
Till at night in my slumbers 

My dreams were of thee 
And miy pillow was resting 

Near the old elm tree. 

To-day, love, I viewed it 

With a heart sad and sore ; 
Its branches v/ere waving 

The same as of yore ; 
The leaves faintly whispered, 

My darling, of thee, 
But sad is the story 

Of the old elm tree. 

Its leaves have not fallen 

But the branches are dried; 
The rain-drops were falling ; 



50 GREEN MOUNTAIN CHIMES. 

I sat down and cried. 
My heart was enraptured, 

For, again, young and free, 
We met there together 

Near the old elm tree. 



There thrilled in my bosom 

A rapture no less 
Than that of the by-gone 

When it knew your caress. 
From the clover sweet sounded 

The hum of the bee ; 
And birds sang once more 

In the old elm tree. 



The wind from the meadow 

Through the dry branches sighed 
It told the sad story 

That the tree, too, had died. 
I awoke from my gladness, 

And looked, love, for thee, 
Alas ! you had vanished 

From the old elm tree. 



APOSTROPHE TO PRAYER. 

( From " Gail Donner. " ) 

Oh, Prayer ! thou who hast cast a 
Ray of comfort into the 
Darkest affliction, soothed the 
Deepest wounds of the crush'd and 
Broken heart, and revived the 



GREEN MOUNTAIN CHIMES. 51 

Smould'ring embers of hope burnt 
Low on Despair's desolate 
Hearthstone, around which the chill'd 
And weary soul still lingered, 
Are thy words, framed and uttered 
Here, emblazoned with a hand 
Of fire on that tablet 
Beyond the horizon where 
The sun of life's day must set ? 
Make answer you whose knee has 
Bended in both Youth's trustful 
Morning, and the doubting night 
Of Age. 



LOST. 

I strayed by Time's great ocean strand, 
And watched while Nature's tide 

Bore along the rich, the grand, 
The beggar by their side. 

There I saw in the waters' mirth. 

The treasures the tide had claimed 

Borne swift along by the shore of earth, 
The bad, the good, the famed. 

With them appeared on the billows' crest 
The things of by-gone years — 

The hopes and joys a life had blessed : 
Life's sorrow and toil and tears. 

Once on the deck of a passing bark. 
As T stood by the river cold, 



52 GREEN MOUNTAIN CHIMES. 

Among the specters, grim and dark, 
Appeared a kindred soul. 

This vessel with timbers staunch and strong 
Passed down the dashing stream — 

There came from its deck a mournful song. 
And the sound of its turning beam. 

My eye, with a wistful, longing stare, 

Followed the ensign white 
Till clouds wrapped the river everywhere 

In a mantel dark as night. 

Then whispered a voice, in sorrow deep, 
" Earth's child you have gone astray; 

Here on the strand to-morrow keep 
Your vigil begun to-day." 



SAILING ON THE WATERS OF SIN. 

Are you sailing your ark on the waters of sin 
Where the wrecks of sorrow and shame have been? 
If so, stray captain, turn in, turn in 

To the harbor of safe repose, 
Where your boat will be rocked by the zephyrs of 

spring 
By the shore where the robin dips his wing, 
Where the seas are calm and no fog bells ring, 

And there comes no winter of snows. 

Tear the darksome flag from the splintered mast. 
Oh, hark you not to the rushing blast } 



GREEN MOUNTAIN CHIMES. 53 

Change your course ere the day is past, 
And the hope of your voyage is lost. 

Quick mend the torn sail and catch the rushing tide, 

And pass the crafts that slowly ride : 

Sail swiftly away to Virtue's side 

Where billows have never tossed. 

Dangerous rocks in your pathway lay ; 
You see them not in your darksome day ; 
Their sullen peaks dash up the spray 

That calm in Youth's sunshine tossed. 
Oh, straying one hurry fast away 
While the light on your prow is born of day ; 
Night will come to stay alway. 

And the blessinofs of life will be lost. 



NOT ALL. 

The was once a man but now he is dead, 

He owned both houses and lands, 
He owned deep mines of silver and lead. 

And claims with the golden sands. 
He owned a square on the river street 

And two on the avenue, 
And the smile for his tenants was not so sweet 

On the day when their rents were due. 
He was reckoned as solid by the crowd 

As a stone in the Chinese wall, 
But the simple tailor that made his shroud 

Knew he didn't own it all. 



$4: GREEN MOUNTAIN CHIMES. 

A maiden sat in the dying light, 

Her fingers touched the keys, 
She sang everything that was " out of sight," 

But here listeners still would tease. 
She sang " Come Home " and *' The Boys in Blue/' 

•*I Whistle and Watch for Kate," 
'' Will you be true ? " and " I Love but You,*' 

" And Don't Stay out too Late," 
"My Old Cabin Home," and " Baby-Mine," 

" Maggie May," and <' After the Ball," 
3ut they knew when she left out " I'll Be Thine," 

That she had not sung them all. 



A man there was not very good, 

But his face had Wisdom's look, 
He read the myst'ries of field and wood 

Like the page of an open book. 
He had learned the tablets of Greece and Rome, 

Likewise the cards that win — 
Too many times he Jiad stayed from home 

To find what " might have been." 
He knew how the muscles work the bone. 

And why the apples fall, 
But his mother-in-law soon made him own 

That he^didn't know it all. 

Still one more son of Adam's race. 

With no fortune but his pride. 
Sought in a rich man's dwelling place 
^^: An heiress for a bride. 
With tales of his love and his handsome home 

He filled the trusting ears, 
Till the maiden's heart was loath to roam 

With an absence of all fears. 



GREEN MOUNTAIN CHIMES. 

He soon fooled her, then turned about 

And entered the father's stall, 
But he knew, when the old man kicked him out, 

That he had not fooled them all. 

Another, a shepherd of a flock. 

Watched all his lambs with care, 
Each day and hour, like a solid rock. 

He prayed for them a prayer. 
He loved the rich and the poor the same, 

The modern and the quaint, 
The simp'ring lass and the stately dame, 

The sinner and the saint. 
He loved his wife and the choir-girl. 

Miss Bates and Mrs. Ball, 
And when he " skipped " with the hired-girl 

They knew he loved them all. 

A gentleman of other times 

Sought out the throne of grace. 
He had learned in hymns and tales and rhymes 

How this had saved the race. 
He had been, of course, in earlier days 

What aunts style " Quite a boy," 
But now he wished to mend his ways. 

And to enter into joy. 
Like this, the friends gone on before 

Had 'risen from their fall. 
But he learned, on reaching the other shore, 

That it had not saved them all. 



56 GREEN MOUNTAIN CHIMES. 



WHISPERING VOICES. 

There are voices in the twilight 

Whispering tales of long ago, 
Of the happy days of summer, 

Of the winter and its snow : 
Telling stories of the springtime 

When the heart is all aglow : 
Speaking sadly of the autumn 

When the flowers cease to grow. 

I have listened oft at even 

To these voices strange but true, 
When our spirits knit together 

While the flowers sipped the dew ; 
The heart then had no shadow, 

For our sky was always blue. 
Whispering zephyrs told the flowers 

Every secret that we knew. 

Even now I long for evening, 

For the time when work is done, 
Then down among the shadows, 

When the hills have crossed the sun, 
I can listen to the voices, 

All of you, dear, absent one : 
First I met you there at even 

When the work of day was done 

The tale is now of sadness. 

But down in my bosom deep 

There is a restless longing 

For the words the zephyrs keep : 




With the friends so true and dear." 

Page 47. 



GREEN MOUNTAIN CHIMES. 57 

Their whispers cool the fever 

In the heart that will not sleep. 

Once the flowers smiled and nodded, 
They now bow down to weep. 

Still the voices and the shadows 

About my heart entwine 
The thrill of those sweet moments 

When I held your hand in mine, 
While the bee sang in the clover 

Where he came at dusk to dine, 
When with downcast eye you whispered 

You would be forever mine. 

The hours now are longer. 

Darker hill-tops hide the sun ; 
And the trill of some rude finger 

Over Nature*s harp-strings run. 
Singing ever songs of sadness, 

All of you my absent one, 
Still, I long and sigh for evening 

When the cares of day are done. 



WHERE ARE THEY. 

Where is the heart that used to beat ? 

The heart is tired and laid away. 
Where is the cart that crossed the street ? 

The cart is -ired — It didn't pay. 



58 GREF-:N mountain CtilMES. 

Where are the feet with the soft, slow fall? 

The feet are resting — they fare the best. 
Where is the seat by the p^ardeii wall ? 

The seat iy vacant — he confessed. 

Where is the voice so sweet and clear? 

The voice is hushed by a silent call. 
Where is the choice that we made last year ? 

The choice? — it turned out nothing at all. 

Where is the maid that we used to court ? 

The maid went off with another "feller." 
Where is the squirrel that we shot for sport ? 

The squirrel ? — he's in the schoolboy's speller. 

Where is the prayer that we used to pray ? 

The prayer is forgotten, it had its day. 
Where is the hair that we parted gay ? 

The hair was transient — it didn't stay. 

Where is there " square" that we used to play ? 

The square is rounded — it didn't pay. 
Where is the fare we used to pay ? 

The fare ? — the conductor periiaps will say. 

Where is the seven hairs we shaved ? 

The seven w-hitened one by one. 
Where are the eleven dimes we saved ? 

The eleven dimes were spent for fun. 

V^Tiere is the haven whose streets are paved } 
The haven is crowded if there be one, 

Where is the craven who feared the grave ? 

The craven ? — he's loading his great, big gun. 



GREEN MOUNTAIN CHIMES. 



VIRTUE. 

Earthly pilgrim there's a jewel 

Found within the aching breast 
That can still your fevered longing — 

Charm the tired heart to rest. 
It is Virtue's precious treasure, 

And the subject with it blessed 
Is more wealthy than his monarch 

In a crown of diamonds dressed. 

It can drive away the anguish 

When the mortal, fleeting breath 
Vainly seeks a ray to light it 

On the unknown road of death. 
When the years of life are gathered 

Near the entrance of the tomb 
That soul by Virtue lighted 

Needs no brighter sun or moon. 

Oh youth ! in happy springtime 

Guard tins gem of price untold, 
With the key of maniiood lock it 

In the fastness of your soul. 
Along life's dang'rous journey 

Grasp the key with zealous hand 
Lest you lose it in the darkness 

Of the world's cruel drifting sand. 

Happy maiden keep this treasure 
Safe within your snowy breast ; 

To maintain earth's sweetest pleasure 
You are given this behest. 



60 GREEN MOUNTAIN CHIMES. 

On your bright face of beauty 
I behold its beams at play 

Like the gold-light on the lily 

From the distant lamp of day. 

Sweet Virtue, in earth's darkness, 

I have seen your shining wing 
Strew the drearest path of winter 

\Vith the blossoms of the spiing, 
I have seeny^ou load Life's autumn 

With the fruits of youthful years, 
And drive from its December 

All the doubts and cares and fears. 

While your bosom holds this treasure, 

Child of earth and earth's dark cares, 
Your feet need never falter 

On life's road of pits and snares ; 
When the clouds and shadows gather 

It will brighten up the way; 
Though tlie night be dark aisd stormy 

It can make it as the day. 

Like the nestlings in tlie tree-top — 

Safe from Evil's dreaded crest 
Are your hopes and dreams forever 

Held In Virtue's sweet caress. 
Threat'ning clouds may beat around you, 

Light'nings flash and thunders roar. 
But wijile Virtue guides your footsteps 

You are ^■•-^ ■■'■■- ■''^-■nore. 



GREEN M.jUNTAiN CHIMES. 61 



QUESTION. 

In Nature's breast or v/here'er ihoii. art 
Almighty and controling povv'<rr 
Before which falters 

The trembling heart of man, 
In the darkentfd watch of life's little hour 
Can the blaze of altars 

EiiCct thy all-wise plan, 
Of which man's structure is I he grandest part ? 

Oppressed with fear from the source that gave it 
birth, 
Can the timid and despairing soul 
By ttiars and prayers 
Gain a pL^.ce apart froni the gath'ring throngs 
And gaze forever on the walls of gold 
With no fe^rs, no cares. 
Or does the s::i5;e inheritance to all belongs 
Unchanged, forever, like the laws of earth? 

Or when done with earth and evejy ^-arthly pain 
If the lovc-d ones shoiild fail 
To tiiiiely meet us 

In the distant land, 
Could our spirits prevail 
On those who greet us 

To t;5ke our trembling hand 
And lead us on to life again ? 



«2 GREEN MOUNTAIN CHIMES, 



ANSWER. 

When the thread of life unwinds once more 
There will be childhood's joys again, 
Manhood's passing strength, 
Youth's brief hour of play : 
Once more the long days of pain, 
Diminishing in length : 

Grief and joy alway — 
Nothing new — all as before. 

There will be no quest of friend or foe, 
All as before will love ; 

The babe from its mother 
Will the bliss conceive. 
Then some will point above : 

While still and still another 
Will come and will leave. 
Again each trav'ler will the journey know. 

How often our spirits have passed through. 
This stage of sleep called death, 
In the ages gone by, 

No voice has come to tell. 
While for the fleeting breath 
We feebly yearn and cry 
Ail in the plan is well, 
Nothing in its course is changed or new. 



GREEN MOUNTAIN CHIMES. 6a 



THE LITTLE APPLETREE. 

One day in Life's bright Springtime, 
When the world was full of glee, 

I went into the meadow 

Some of Nature's work to see, 

And beheld a host of apples 
On a little appletree. 

Through Life's summertime I watched them,. 

Kissed by breezes from the sea, — 
Often since, in earth's dark journey. 

All my aching eye could see 
Was that host of shining apples 

On the little apple-tree. 

With future dreams beguiling 

Still my bounding heart would hush 
While the fairy artist, smiling, 

Touched them with his flaming brush. 
The font of Youth was gushing, 

But the blast of Time's decree. 
Came in the Autumn rushing 

And shook that appletree. 

When the Wreck of Hope lay tossing 
Out on Care's rough wintry sea, 

Once more Youth's shore, in crossing, 
I beheld but not with glee, 

For, alas, there were no apples. 
Neither was there any tree. 



64 GREEN MOUISTAIN CliiME:^. 

But I trust vvhen Time Is ended 
That my waking eye may see 

All the glad and sad hearts blended, 
In the great Eternity, 

Like that host of rosy apples 
On the little appletree. 



A HOPE. 

I had a hope in ilic earlier time^ 
The boyhood yenrs had llecked it. 

It was born alofr in their teiiderer ciime. 
The morning dews hail decked it; 

I had listened oi.": to its sweetest chime, 
But no pov;er below coidd its sweet breath save 

It could not be protected 
And I only know the juy it gave 

When my sord at rirst saspected 
That the pov»'er or deatli it could easily brave. 

That hope was lost in a darkened ^ky ; 
My mind was sore aiTected ; 

The stars were dim, but they saw it die, 
And gladly would have chvcked it. 

The sorrowin.'; moon heard its parting sigh 
She saw it fade without knowing why — 

Without knowing what i;r.d VvTecked it, 
And beneath a cloud began to cry. 

The stars had not suspected 
That a thing so fair could droop and die. 



GKI'JlN M'jU.N'TAIN CSiiMHS. G5 



THE BROOK. 

Little brook in tlie downward journey, 

I have heard in your garrullous lays, 
Your voice loud and harsh in the springtime 
Low and sweet in the autumn days. 
Sing softly and slowly 
While the months and years go by 

Sing sadly and lowly 
For everything must die. 

You told me the story of boyhood, 

With what gladness I listened then ! 
But soon you grew strong in the flood-tide, 
And you sang the harsh story of men. 
Sing sweetly and gladly : 

I would have no jarring cry : 
Sing hoarsely and sadly 

For everything must die. 

Sing me a song of one absent 

Of the light in her downcast eye, 
As it rested once on your ripples, 

And the love-laden barks sailing by. 
Sing v/ild;y and madly, 

Winds in the branches sigh ; 
Sing lowly ai^d sadly 

For everything must die. 



«6 GREEN MOUNTAIN CHIMES. 



LAMENTING. 

Oh, had I knov/n that you could stay- 
Only one — just one short day, 
My heart would now be much less sore: 
Had I guessed before, before 
That you must go so soon away 
From earthly friends and hopes to stay. 

The punishment I did inflict 

And ev'ry rule laid down so strict 

With hopes to guide to manhood's way, 

And bring enjoyment to the day 

When your own hand would dare life's tide, 

Had I but known, were cast aside. 

My eyes were blind, I did not see 
The hand to lead you far from me. 
Oh, what cared I for things you spoiled ! 
Oh, what cared I for garments soiled ! 
The first have vanished from the years ; 
The last are washed clean v/ith my tears. 



BERRIES IN THE GRASS. 

The friends of youth — dear, happy band 
Come back again to-day 

March in review, hand clasped in hand- 
How soon you went away ! 



GREEN MOUNTAIN ClilMKS. 67 

But one sweet recoHection stays, 
When out iroin school e7i jnas^e 

We rushed at noan from all the plays 
For berries in the grass. 

How precious were the moments then 

In that brief space called ''noon ! " 
I hear the teacher's call again — 

The bumblebees' slow tune ; 
Again I hear the mischief planned, 

And see the blushing lass 
A-searching while I held her hand 

For berries in the grass. 

And Sundays from the pious lay, 

And from the preacher's smile 
Our hearts were often led away 

By Fascination's wile ; 
No creed on earih could stay the tide, 

The sermon and the mass 
Oft failed alike to fully hide 

Those berries in the grass. 

But since, in life's dark, troubled day, 

From pathways sloping dov/n, 
How many souls are lead away 

By those same hands so brown ! 
The angel of the record book 

Will let some charges pass 
If in the heavens there's a nook 

With berries in the grass. 

Out in the world's great fertile field 

Some seeds must ever fall 
From off the weeds that sin will yield 

Among the grasses tall ; 



68 GREEN MOUNTAIN CHIMES. 

Some eyes will stay both sad and blind 

Till night comes on, alas ! 
Many searchers fail to find 

The berries in the grass. 

Oh, may we early search with care 

The fields of Truth and Right, 
And share with those in pastures bare 

Our dipper-full at night ; 
Then while Faith's sunbeams light the west 

The hopeless ones that pass 
Will see the fruit and with the rest 

Search berries in the grass. 



TRUE PRAYER. 

You fellers from the college stage 

An' seminary school 
Can't never soften up the breast 
^^ - ■ Of this old country fool ; 
Your studied sanctemony 

An' your orthodoxal show 
Can't never reach the pint that's sore, 

You've never felt the blow. 

A-dressin' an' a-shakir ' hands 

An' ridin' on the train 
Don't make a feller fit to soothe 

The heart's dull, aching pain ; 




" I used to walk that distanqi." 

Pagk jo. 



GREEN MOUNTAIN CHIMES. «• 

You've got to walk an' bear the load 

Of sorrow, care an' woe 
Along life's dark an' rugged road — 

You've got to feel the blow. 



Of course its kind of pleasant like 

' "1^ To listen to your song: 

It makes the heart slow up a bit 

What's thumpin' all day long. 
And I hope you'll reap a harvest 

From the kernels that you sow, 
An' work as eager later on, 

An' never feel no blow. 



An' sence we've come to argufy 

The liftin' thing in prayer, 
The feller what ain't had no grief, 

I gamble, don't git there. 
There ain't no histin' upwards : 

He may kneel an' let er go. 
But list'nin' sinners want to bet 

That he ain't felt no blow. 



The kind of prayin' sinners feel 

Comes up from burdened souls — 
From hearts what have gone bankrupt 

Payin' out Love's earthly tolls — 
From fountains in the longin' breast 

What gush an' overflow — 
From bosoms with their grief untold 

What often felt the blow. 



70 GREEN MOUNTAIN CHIMES. 

Sometimes when these people pray 

This hard old heart is numb : 
For it the tongues of Natur' 

In the world below is dumb. 
Their pray in' makes me see agin 

The friends what had to go, 
A-lookin' jest the same as whin 

I felt the partin' blow. 



MEET ME AT THE STATION 
WITH THE TEAM. 

Farewell to toil and sorrow, 

I am going East to- morrow, 

I'll visit you on Sunday, 
Oh, the hope seems like a dream ! 

I must start back here on Monday, 

I can just stay over Sunday 
If you'll meet me at the station with the team. 

I'm tired now with thinking, 

And the stars they all keep winking, 

In the hush I hear the murmur of the brook, 

Dear, busy stream, 

And again I see you sitting 

By the hearthstone, mother knitting — 

Be sure to meet me early with the team. 

I used to walk that distance ; 
Then the snows made no resistance. 
And the winds were only playful 
Like the sun's caressing beam. 



GREEN MOUNTAIN CHIMES. 71 

Guess I'm getting lazy, 
Then I romped with Sport and Daisy — 
I know you'll meet me early with the team. 

While I sang here in El Paso, 

The boys that wield the lasso 

Filled ev'ry aisle and corner 
Till the scene seemed like a dream. 

I smiled of course and nodded 

Ev'ry time the crowd applauded, 
But my thoughts were at the station and the team. 

I have charmed the western cities 
With my simple strains and ditties, 
But alas ! the praise and plaudits. 

How idle they all seem ! 

In my soul's most bright endeavor 
Friends and home were present ever, 

Oh, don't forget to meet me v/ith the team. 

I cannot sleep from thinking, 

As the moon is slowly sinking. 

How you'll bless me Sabbath morning 
While the bells ring out the theme 

Of the heavy cross and Savior; 

You'll forgive my past behavior 
When you meet me at the station v/ith the team. 

My mind has been so busy 

That my head is sick and dizzy, 

I have hoped and longed to meet you, 
JBut I know it is a dream, 

Good-by, alas ! forever, 

Voices tell me I will never 
;See you at the station with the team. 



"72 GREEN MOUNTAIN CHIMES. 



AFTER HE HAD GONE. 

After 5ie had gone 

1 missed him. 

Though I never cried nor kissed him, 
His path my sun shone on. 

My relentless heart was sore ; 

And the pain grew more and more 
After he had gone. 

After he had gone, 

I remembered, 

In the v/eb of life, dismembered 
Threads he often labored on ; 

And stronger longings, day by day, 

Began to break the warp away 
After he had gone. 

After he had gone 

His smile remained ; 

It grew more beautiful and more it pained 
The heart it rested on. 

My thoughts, grown less for others' woes 

Began to break my own repose 
After he had gone. 

After he had gone 

The friendless spoke his name, 

And asked each other why he never came. 
Or why he stayed so long. 

My days are lonely — the night is gloom; 

For my breaking heart the world changed soon 
After he had gone. 



GRKEN MOUNTAIN CHlMi^S. 73 

After he had gone 

Past hopes and fears 

Came back and caught my blinding tears, 
While mem'ry would fawn, 

Until his sins and faults were small; 

Oh, could I tell him what I suffered, all, 
After he had gone. 



THE LIGHT OF HOME. 

Out on life's stream, as it dashes along, 
We try to steer our barques aright. 

With hearts unburdened and lilied with song 
We drift along in the light. 

We are eager to reach the Isle of Tears, 
In the ocean of Care and Woe 

Where all the crafts on the stream of years 
With their treasures of youth must go. 

On that desolate shore forever more 
Are strewn the hopes of youih, 

The waves dash o'er the scattered store 
Of love and trust and truth. 

Dear sailor blythe on your voyage of life 
Be not eager to reach this isle. 

Keep in sight the beacon light 
Of parents and home awhile. 

On the home's bri.a:ht shore there's a silver oar 
And the waters are calm and blue. 

And there's ne'er a night, but a beacon light 
Shines clear and bright for you. 



T4 GREEN MOUNTAIN CHIMES. 



CHANGES. 

Don't think because you're talking loud 

That others will not talk ; 
Don't laugh because you're riding proud, 

And poorer people walk. 
Time's hand may lift the fairest crown 

And in a year or two, 
The neighbors you are throwing down 

May have a chance at you. 
And he whose faults you made to glare — 

Whose head you helped to bow 
May sit behind the same old mare 

That you are driving now. 

Dear traveler on life's crooked road, 

Into your wagon strong, 
Take up the weary brother's load 

And carry it along ; 
And waste no time by making halts 

To tell the friends you see 
The story of that pilgrim's faults — 

His sins and misery; 
Then when the world's calamity 

Your own poor soul will cheat, 
The same bright flame of charity 

Will light your faltering feet. 



GREEN MOUNTAIN CHIMES. 76- 



WHEN TO PRAY. 

De topick, dearest Christian folks, 

What I shall 'spound ter-day, 
Am 'bout de mortal subjec' 

Whin a nigger ought to pray. 
De tex' am in de gospel 

Whah Mars Jonah et de whale, 
An' den dun gone an' baiged hees wife 

Fo' her to go hees bail. 
Nowbes' belubbed bredren 

Dis heah pint am cleah as day ; 
Ef yo' sin yo' boun' to sass de Lo'd 

Each time yo' 'tempt to pray. 

Ef yo' niggahs mines yo' kenshence 

You'll be nebbah in de lerch. 
An' yo' shell go to Hebben, shuah, 

Do' yo' mayjine no cherch. 
Dis fac' yo' deah, ole pastah 

Hab ben preachin' many a day, 
While you cubbit some fine hen-roost 

Dere am no need fo' to pray. 
Yo' mayjine de cherch an' holler 

Till yo' lungs am weak an' soah, 
But so long's yo' lub dem chickens 

Yo' deah Lo'd wunt heah no moah. 

Ebbery niggah has a kenshence, 

De bredren will confess ; 
An' ef de cullahed people 

Mines dat whisper in dere bres', 



76 GREEN MOUNTAIN CHIMES. 

Da may nebah jine no cherches — 

Da may stay to hum an' pra)^, 
An' de Lo'd what heahs the chickens squack 

Will heark to what da' say ; 
An' when dere called up yendah, 

Whar de angel pints his rod, 
Dawunt hab to do much lying 

Fur to settle wif dere God. 

Yo'll fo'gib me, bes' belubbed, 

Fo' de liberty I take. 
Dere's one mo' obsuwation 

While de bredren am awake. 
Ef yo' ebbah lift a chicken, 

Do' no mortal healied him squeal. 
Done ax de Lo'd in hebben 

To come down and bless dat meal. 
It was bettah fo' yo' mortal soul 

To fasted night nn' day 
Den to strip yo' naboah's chicken roost 

An' den preswume to pray. 

De Christians into God's deal housCj 

Ob late, ail pray so strong, 
It am pesky hard fo' dis ole man, 

To gess whose ;^win' v/rong. 
An' whin de meetin's obah, 

Ef de bruddah, blessed wif meat, 
Will invite Miss Eldah johnsing 

An' her man, day'll gladly eat. 
Aldo' some Christian peoples 

Passed de parsonage rud-iah hte, 
Dis mawnin' yo' deah pastah 

Foun' no offerin' at de o-ate. 



GREEN MOUNTAIN CHIMES. 77 



TWO APPLES. 

An apple hung on an appletree ; 

He said to his fellows '* just look at me ; 

I am the highest up of you all, 

And I mean to hang on this branch till fall." 

A large bug sat on the slender stem ; 

Jle braced his feet, then coughed," A-hem ! " 

The apple fell in the swaying grass, 

And the hungry boy ate it up, alas ! 

Another swung on an humbler bough ; 
If it hasn't fallen, it hangs there now. 
When the breezes tossed the branch around, 
It was never far above the ground. 

And was safe in the lesson that life will teach 
The gath'rer of apples would higher reach. 
And was well content, for if at all 
It dropped, it didn't have far to fall. 



DESPONDENCY AND HOPE. 

Life's harp, thy finest string is broken ; 

No rapture springs from ihy refrain ; 
The joys of v/hich ihy voice hast spoken 

Are chanjjed forever into pain. 



78 GREEN MOUNTAIN CHIMES. 

Now at eve the night wind sweeping 

O'er thy bosom as of old 
Sends a hoarse-voiced anthem creeping 

To the portals of the soul. 

Oh, some day while the world is making 

Heavier purdens, extra cares — 
Some day when this heart is breaking 

Tune again thy raptuous airs ! 
Throb once more beneath the finger 

Moved by friendship, thrill'd with love ; 
Lead the soul, doomed here to linger, 

To hope again and look above. 



PULL AGAINST THE STREAM, 

Oh, seaman on the world's high tide 

Drop not your oars to-day ! 
Lift in the anchor from the side. 

And bravely pull away. 
Why should you now sit stupefied 

In life's bewild'ring dream ? 
Once more unload your bark of pride, 

And pull against the stream. 

At first the current may be strong, 

But firmly grasp the oar, 
And push your vessel right along 

Safe toward the verdant shore. 



GREEN MOUNTAIN CHrMES. 79 

And later all the flood and foam 

Will not so mighty seem : 
The arm grows strong in sight of home 

That pulls against the stream. 

The sullen rock and cateract 

May sometimes come in view ; 
But, though the strong oars bend and crack, 

Just put your vessel through. 
Though night be dark with wind and rain, 

When comes the morning beam, 
Your eye will meet new fields of grain, — 

Just pull against the stream. 

And when the flood of spring is gone — 

When all the leaves are brown. 
And heavier freights of age come on 

To load your vessel down, 
That boat will ride by golden shores 

With safe and steady beam, 
Because in youth you grasped the oars 

And pulled against the stream. 

Point me the youth without a home 

Whose heart is brave and true, 
And in some distant day to come 

I'll show in turn to you 
A man, who, though his course was slow, 

And marked by Virtue's beam, 
Outstripped the crafts of pride and show 

On life's uncertain stream. 



$0 GREEN MOUNTAIN CHIMES. 



WHAT WE ALL LIKE TO HEAR. 

Jack, sing us a song if you please, sir. 

The camp is so quiet to-night ; 
You always knew singing and music 

And things that can put the heart right. 
Sing something not all of the city : 

Take a verse. Jack, that's likely to cheer ; 
Have a brook and some trees and a cottage — 

Sing something we all like to hear. 

Forgive me for being particular, 

But somehow my heart is not light, 
And the songs of the gay and the worldly 

Would make it more heavy to-night. 
Here at the mines we're all equal. 

But East, and it always seemed queer, 
How you, Jack, above and beyond us. 

Said and sang what we all liked to hear. 

There's " Big Bill " of the shaft called the Dorris, 

That one with his hand on his head — 
They named the mine after his woman. 

And to-night the news came that she's dead. 
Sing a verse if you can. Jack, and in it 

Have it go that there's nothing to fear ; 
When we're dead all the sorrow is ended — 

Sing something we all like to hear. 

There's the parson that brought Bill the message. 
He don't seem many duties to shirk ; 




And wlien tlie flood of spring is gone." 

Page 79. 



GREEN MOUNTAIN CHIMES. 81 

If you can fix it all right in the rhyming 

Just give him a lift in his work. 
I won't charge your mind with my longings, 

You know which direction to steer, 
And if I had never insisted 

You'd sing what we all like to hear. 

The sinner with no friend to turn to 

Never felt that you pointed him out 
Though he knew from the start to the finish 

You gladly would turn him about. 
Sing to-night, Jack, though gathered around you 

Are hearts that this world cannot cheer. 
They will struggle more hopefully onward ; 

Sing something we all like to hear. 



THE CHRISTMAS GIFT, 

It was late one Christmas ev'ning 

In a crowded thoroughfare. 
On the corner where an arc-light 

Cast around a lambant glare 
Where the stream of Life flowed onward, 

Growing large that happy day. 
That a minstrel's simple ballad 

Stayed the feet that passed that way. 

It was not so much the music 

That withheld the list'ning throng 

Back from the simple deeds of love 

Their hearts had planned so long; 



82 GREEN MOUNTAIN CHIMES. 

Not the faded, upturned features 
Lighted by the arc-light flame, 

But the voice with something in its tone 
The list'ners could not name. 

Not many of Art's bravuras 

Were accorded to the strain, 
Yet each hearer, in his bosom, 

Felt a joy akin to pain. 
And when the Christmas chiming 

Added rapture to the spell, 
The master spoke his servant 

A more kindly " Fare thee well." 

And the handsome, rich-dressed ladies 

From their coupes nodded 'round 
To the pretty maidens, standing 

On the corner humbly gowned. 
Then a goodly shower of silver 

Fell around the singer's feet, 
But he heeded not the jingle 

On the frozen, city street. 

Many times upon that corner 

With his trusty violin, 
Had he raised a simple melody 

Above the city's din. 
He had stood upon that corner 

Often when his choicest lay 
Went out to melt the gen'rous heart 

Upon its worldly way. 

But to-night the silver rested 
Where it fell upon the stone 



GREEN MOUNTAIN CHIMES. 8S 

Till its jingle in the Christmas air 

Was stifled by a groan. 
The minstrel strangely smiled upon 

The donors 'round him pressed, 
He had clasped the old, worn fiddle 

Very tender to his breast. 

Then down upon the pavement 

The loved instrument he laid, 
And softly kneeling by its side 

Bent over it and prayed. 
The words grew faint and fainter ; 

Lower sunk the bowing head, 
Till someone, kinder than the rest, 

Drew near and found him dead. 

The Christmas moon had sunk from sight 

Above the frozen pall, 
And from the silent vaults of night 

The snows began to fall. 
The crowd departing through the drift, 

From where he lay in state, 
Knew that the minstrel's Christmas gift 

Had come a day too late. 



LACK OF LEADERS. 

The general who leads in the battle, 

And fires and loads with his might, 

Soon learns that the soldier will follow 
Who could not be driven to fight. 

On the marches of life — in life's conflicts, 

By the troops turning backward, we know, 



84 GREEN MOUNTAIN CHIMES. 

In the van there's a vacancy often ; 
Those driven don't hanker to go. 

You may tell of the beautiful city, 

And urge doubting mortals to rest 
All their hopes and their cares and their burdens 

In that far-away land of the blest ; 
But should you show some inclination 

Yourself to stay anchored below, 
Your life and its labors are wasted ; 

It were better you never said go. 

The pilgrim with sin for his burden ; 

The outcast with longings and fears 
Both watch in earth's darkness for beacons 

To flash o'er the waste of the years. 
Who lives right his everyday actions 

Will be the true signals to show 
That he is a leader, and many 

Will follow him eager to go. 



SAYING AND DOING. 

One niPins come onto Chestercole * 

What anybody's fraid ; 
Them person scare almos' to kill 

Jes so long she stayed. 

She call them how she sail Lachine 

Down one big cat-er-act, 
An' how laro^e hedge pig come sam' nights 

Right on top her back. 

'f Colchester. 



GREEN MOUNTAIN CHIMES. 85 

She tell she hant almos' ben scare 

With tree big Ilingin man, 
An' how she don't run way that thing 

Provided if she can. 

She swap wrong horse's man off 

To Mon-re-al nas fair, 
An' come to home v»'ithout them rap, 

Her wife don't any scare. 

She ask his wife good-mornay , 

He call him good-mornay too, 
Then bose of it shake off his hand 

An' tell it how you do. 

Don't you forget it no plac. 

You ain't afraid of me. 
You got the wrong spoke to it 

She jes the sam's I be. 

But she mak some work to St. Alban 

One plac on top the wood, 
An' those gentlemans what boss that jobs 

Can't thought she's pretty good. 

He's one nas plac to work for, 

But she can't want her no tall ; 

She pack his police off right up 
An' come on Mon-re-al. 



GREEN MOUNTAIN CHIMES. 



ONE SEQUEL. 

You mak some talk to Chestercole, 
Some more on some else one, 

That persons can't look like it 
You hant work any bun. 

An' if she tell great many talks, 
Lak sam's she mak before, 

She's come to home on Mon-re-al, 
An' don't went back some more. 



NELL. 

Sad is the autumn grandeur now, 

The leaves of red and brown 
Resemble earthly hopes and joys 

As silent they fall down. 
But to my soul they bring the cheer - 

The bliss of Memory's spell 
That made the days of autumn dear 

The year I courted Nell. 

'Tis strange in all of man's affairs 
How much a word may do — 

How it can bind two hearts in one, 
Or break a heart in two. 



GREEN MOUNTAIN CHIMES. 87 

The friends we counted in that year 

Were very prone to tell 
The simple faults my life possessed — 

The failings found in Nell. 

I'm certain as the days go on 

My loneliness and grief 
Have vanished in the lesson 

Of the withered, falling leaf, 
And that the tongues of slander, 

Which have stopped our wedding bell,. 
Did a kindness not intended 

For myself, perhaps, and Nell. 

For, now, although we're parted. 

And my heart is aching so, 
The heavier load of earthly cares 

Won't crush her heart I know ; 
The leaves that rustle in the gale 

Won't break the lethean spell, 
The tomb is deaf to every tale 

That parted me and Nell. 

The thoughtless words that have the powV 

To check the force of love, 
And bring destruction to the flower 

Born but to bloom above, 
Might have started at the chiming 

Of our silvery, wedding bell. 
And darkened ev'ry pathway 

In the world for me and Nell. 



SS GREEN MOUNTAIN CHIMES. 



A SONG. 

Sing a little ditty 
Full of love and pity 

As the days fly by. 
The simple strain may reach some ear, 
Calm some bosom filled with fear ; 
It may start again the tear 

From the fountain dry. 

Sing it loud or lowly 
It will be a message holy 

To thy lonely friend. 
His heavy load will lighter be 
If it reach his storm-tossed sea, 
With the anthem of the bee, 

Sweet the notes will blend. 

Sing for souls that's weary. 
Sing for hearts that's cheery 

There's gems in every part. 
Sing it in the darksome night, 
Sing it when the morn is bright, 
In the darkness or the light, 

It will reach some heart. 

MORAL. 

One evening, while dining, sly Reynard 

Was asked by his children, sweet, 
Why their table quite frequently empty 

Was laden with two kinds of meat. 
"You should not have had this," said the father, 

" Had the robin not warbled and talked ; 
Nor this," said he, meaning some crow meat, 

*'If the other kept still v.'hen she squawked." 



GREEN MOUNTAIN CHIMES. 8» 



THERE WILL BE. 

There will be days — Oh, yes there will ! 
When softest rays can't drive the chill 
From lonely ways. 

There will be nights — yes, nights of pain 
With dreadful sights, where Hope is slain 
On golden heights. 

There will be friends with hearts as true 
As steel that bends to break in two 
Whose friendship ends. 

There will be love, so deep and strong. 
Its pow'r can move the world along, 
That flees above. 



FOR GOLD. 

While without the blast is hurling 
Heavy drops against the pane, 

To my chamber forms are furling 

From the darkness and the rain. 

From the by-gone streams are rolling, 
Streams of bliss without alloy; 

And in dreams, I feel me strolling 
Through some field of early joy. 



90 GREEN MOUNTAIN CHIMES. 

Once you guessed, in days forever 
Gone beyond the heart's recall, 

That this soul would wander, never, 
From your simple beauty's thrall. 

Fool, in night's full flowing fountain, 

While you slept your slugglish sleep. 

It was traveling o'er the mountain, 
Through the desert, on the deep. 

It has seen the Frost King blacken 
Whitest blossoms with his breath, 

It has watched the spring beam slacken 
Oii old Winter's coil of death. 

While your idle spirit doted 

On the rest the night would bring, 

Mine, in airy barks, has floated 

Down the stream from Nature's spring. 

Yes, you say the band is holding 

Through the years that are to come. 

Your words but start the scolding 

Of a tongue that should be dumb. 

When the vulgar file has grated 

Through the stretched and rotten cord. 
When the carnal Itist^is sated 

There will end your poor reward. 

Is your palace home much brighter 

Than our love-dream's happy cot ? 

Is your master's soul made whiter 
By your virtue cheaply bought ? 



GREEN MOUNTAIN CHIMES. 91 

Strange but true, in this wrong union, 
You will give him for his gold 

Not true woman's sweet communion — 
Not the treasure of your soul. 

And when your troubled billows 

On the shore of love will fall 
You will wake with dampened pillows — 

Wake and grieve and loath it all. 

True I've grieved some at our parting, 
But down deep in springs that last 

There's a balm for all that smarting — 
There's a lethe for all the past. 

Once in glit'ring jew'ls I trusted, 

But those gems, that seemed so true 

To the boyhood eye, were rusted 

Like your heart-strings, thro' and thro'. 

Should the gold on which you doted 

Ever fail to satisfy 
Turn for comfort to the bloated, 

Leering form and bloodshot eye. 

O, if to your bridal morning 

Some less horrid fate had crossed — 
Would to God some potent warning 

Reached the soul e'er all was lost ! 

Had the witch above her caldron 

Shaken once her raven head 
From the dreadful, lasting thraldom 

Your poor heart might then have sped. 



93 GREEN MOUNTAIN CHIMflES. 

Your fair hand points me gladly 
To some sweet day of the past, 

But I sit and listen sadly 

To the raindrops falling fast. 

Do not strive to hide this sorrow 

From the heart that knows your pain ; 

Gladly of it would I borrow 

Till your peace would come again. 

Only once I saw it flitting 

In the wounded bosom's sigh ; 

Often though I've seen it sitting 
In your faded cheek and eye. 

In past days how we wondered 

At the crushed heart's halting breath 

Never guessing that an hundred 

Pains approached more grim than death, 

When your love first filled earth's river 
With a thousand beauteous ships, 

Could I know that gold would ever 
Buy the kisses of your lips ? 

I forgive you now and ever 

This most deep and bitter wrong, 

In the future I will never 

Sing a discontented song. 

Though through earthly halls with gladness 
We are doomed to never roam, 

We may leave the things of madness 
In their fast-decaying home. 






Have a brook and some trees and a cottage." 

Page So. 



GREEN MOUNTAIN CHIMES. 98 



SING ME A SONG. 

Sing me a song of remembrance, 

Awaken this erring mind 
With a strain made of fond recollections 

That are still with my heart-strings twined. 
Sing it softly and slowly, 

The wounds of the past to bind. 
Sing it wildly — madly, 

Now I would listen long ; 

Sing it sweetly — gladly ; 

Happy one, sing m.e a song. 

Sing me a song of the blighting world, 

Of its bitter, searing frost; 
Sing me a song of hearts aglow 

That a shadow never crossed ; 
Sing me a song of a shattered bark 

By the angry billows tossed. 

Sing sadly of its torn sail — 

Of the timbers once so strong ; 

I hear afar in the rushing gale, 

Happy one your sweet song. 

Sing me a song of the ev'ning — 

Of the twilight pure and fair ; 
Sing me a song of morning 

When the heart is free from care ; 
Sing me a song more earnest 

Of the busy noontide glare. 

Tinge each note with sorrow ; 

Lead me on with the throng — 
On to the glad to-morrow ; 

Happy one sing me a song. 



94 GREEN MOUNTAIN CHIMES. 

Sing me a song of a lifetime — 

Of its transient hopes and fears — 
Of the joys in the early springtime, 

Of the winter of grief and tears, 
Of a voice in anguish calling 

For the by-gone, vanished years. 
In this I seek to borrow 

Respite from hours long ; 

The lay of the world is sorrow 

Happy one sing me a song. 



DESTINY. 

Whate'er the world may take or give 
We move and breathe and strive and live 

Until we die. 
Time turns the glass with steady hand 
While Fate, relentless, smiling bland. 
Touches every pilgrim with his wand — 
The gay, the stricken marches down the strand 

With laugh or sigh. 

He that never sought but won the prize ; 
He who turns for comfort to the skies 

Have failed alike. 
Fate is the monitor that cast the dies; 
In life and worlds but so much lies; 
The friends, the loved, the cherished ties — 
All hopes of man until he dies 

Grim fate may strike. 



GREEN MOUNTAIN CHIMES. X 

Mark yon beggar with his head bowed down ; 
See the monarch with his gilded crown ; 

Fate made the change. 
In the quiet hamlet, in the busy town ; 
On the brightest future Destiny may frown, 
And bring the monarch to the level of the clown, 
Or elevate the creature lowest down ; 

There is no range. 

So when thy hopes are strong and high 
Repine not, pilgrim, should they swiftly fly, 

Press on again. 
In time Fate's frown may pass thee by. 
Or drive the dark cloud from thy sky. 
Unseen crowns are sometimes nigh; 
To-day beside thee one may lie 

Hidden from men. 



DON'T GIVE UP. 

If you have failed to find the glory 

It is but the old, old story; 

If disguised it passed you by, 
Do not fold your hands and cry, 
Do not heave a lasting sigh ; 
With new courage once more try. 

Though you've failed again, again, 

In that done by other men, 

Where'er your lines are cast 
You will conquer all at last ; 
Friend press onward strong and fast 
Never heed the darkened past. 



:96 GREEN MOUNTAIN CHIMES. 

Though the skies may smile or frown, 
In your strength be not cast down. 

If your feet have gone astray 

Struggle back the darkened way ; 

Higher hopes will always pay ; 

Keep in sight the height alway. 

Have you viewed the silent strand? 
Lo, the wrecks that weakness manned ! 

See the mast that once amain 

Answered to the anchor chain ; 

Look again and once again. 

Ah, your bosom feels the pain ! 

While the torrent downward pours 
Take the weaker hand in yours. 

Should your comrade's footsteps stop 

Be you his safe, sure prop ; 

Help him onward to the top ; 

Never let your courage drop. 



PRAYER. 

Power unseen I once more pray thee 
Make anew this erring sight, 

Lead my tired, strug'ling spirit 

From the world's eternal night. 

If to earthly sense be given 

Glimpse of visions of the sky. 

Drop the magic mirage nearer 
To this eager, gazing eye. 



GREEN MOUNTAIN CHIMES. 97 



THE OLD MAN'S MAXIMS. 

Learn a little every day, 

Let each person have his " say, " 

Don't spend all your time that way. 

Though your master be a Turk 
Sing and whistle while you work, 
Never, never, never shirk. 

Do your duty every time ; 
Fill your contract to a dime. 
A little cheating leads to crime. 

Deal the same with one and all — 
Same with Peter, same with Paul, 
Though you stumble, yes and fall. 

Cheer the soul that Passion sways ; 
Point it back to summer days ; 
Lead it right with purer lays. 

Should these maxims meet your eye, 
Child of sorrow then do try 
To be better on the sly. 



Be kind to thy wayward neighbor. 

Be true to thy friend in need. 
For friend and foe alike will go 

In the field to scatter seed. 

When the pall of grief is on thee, 

And thy head is bended low, 
The thirst of these, Y>'hich thou didst appease 

Thy lips shall not long know. 



9« GREEN MOUNTAIN CHIMES. 

Out from life's pure fountain 

The waters will flow again 
From sources deep, of a hidden sleep, 

Down deep in the hearts of men. 

Thy cloudy day will bring a ray 

Rich in the tints of love, 
Like the light of stars through twilight bars^ 

Descending from above. 



REGRET. 

Back of a hill in a pretty dell, 

Where a brooklet babbled all the day, 
A lassie lived, I knew her well ; 

Often at eve I passed that way. 

A laddie lived on the other side, 

Now he has gone far, far away. 
He pled with the lassie to be his bride. 

But neither yes nor no would she say. 

So one day fair when the ships set sail, 

The laddie thought he would take a ride. 

The lassie wept in the rising gale. 

For all that she loved went out with the tide. 

And later a vessel's shattered form 

Bore down and anchored in the bay. 

The seamen told of a mighty storm — 
Of a sailor laddie washed away. 



GREEN MOUNTAIN CHIMES. 99 

First the step of the maid was light, 

And the hillside echoed with her lay, 

But later her rosy lip grew white, 

And her cheek like the lily that blooms in May 

And now in the still of the summer night. 

The maiden, though worn and old is she, 

Comes when the moon is shining bright. 

And stands on the shore to watch the sea. 



c 



IT ISN'T THAT WAY. 

There's no need to pray for him, Mister ; 

I know he was " swift " on the street. 
But he always has loved his sick mother, 

An' buyed her the victuals she eat. 
Come if you wish, sir, and see him ; 

His mother will like you to stay; 
But as fur prayin' fur Jim to be happy, 

I tell you it isn't that way. 

How did it happen ? I'll tell you. 

The car was just crossin' the street. 
An' somebody's bad little young one 

Sot there on the track lookin' sweet. 
Jim rushed through the crowd but he stumbled. 

You may come should you wish, sir, an' pray, 
If you think though that Jim was " a bad one," 

I tell you it isn't that way. 

There he is, Mister ; come near him. 

You see on his face there's a smile. 
Us boys " chipped " an' brought up some flowers, 

But we're all worse than Jim by a " pile." 



100 GREEN MOUNTAIN CHIMES. 

You prob'ly think prayin' will help him, 
An' his mother will want you to pray, 

But we blacked boots together since winter, 
An' I tell you it isn't that way. 

He never would keep back a penny 

If I was away from the stand, 
An' when we slept out on the common 

He laid his coat down in the sand. 
He never complained when we carried him 

Away from the track there to-day. 
You may ask the good angels to help him: 

But I tell you it isn't that wa)^ 

Say, I've seen Jim, when tired an' hungry, 

Buy up Vvith the nickles he'd saved 
Nice dainty things for his mother. 

Jim never got sassy or raved. 
He didn't pretend to be good though ; 

No Mister, that wasn't his •' lay." 
You may do as you WMsh about prayin' 

But I tell you it isn't thi.t way. 

No, he never went inio no churches; 

His coat an' his shoes v;asn't gay. 
But here in the garret, on Sundays, 

Jim with his mother v/ould stay. 
You think that could keep him from Heaven ? 

Well, now look a-here, jMister, say; 
You may think so, but I don't believe it. 

I tell you it isn't that way. 



GREEN MOUNTAIN CHIMES. 101 



THE VOICE OF CONSCIENCE. 

The man of brain and common sense, 

Who gives each feliowman 
A just and equal recompense, 

And does the best he can, 
Needs small assistance from the creed 

Dependent on a shrine 
Where fainting sinners go to feed 

On Superstition's vine. 

True, earnest prayer has ever stayed 

The tleeting hopes of man, 
And on his bosom often laid 

The fullness of his plan. 
But 'round the hearth, if prayer be said. 

Outside let deeds be done, 
So that the Youth v/ill ne'er be led 

This sacred Font to shun. 

Man's vaunted good can ne'er deceive 

Wise list'ners very long, 
Most shallow exhibitions leave 

Impressions of a wrong, 
While honest, heartfelt sympathy 

Moves silent to the point 
Where Sin's attendant misery 

Leaves Nature out of joint. 



XOa GREEN MOUNTAIN CHIMES. 

There is no stumbling blindly on, 

Such teachings are untrue : 
Where're the sinner's feet have gone 

His conscience pointed true. 
No mortal ever went astray 

Without this warning voice 
To urge him to the better way, 

Although he made the choice. 

The soul once introduced to sin 

But sets, as days roll on, 
A snare, in trusting to begin 

Sometime white robes to don. 
'Tis best, methinks, all time to try 

The *' still, small voice " to heed 
For weeks and months and years rush by 

Like life, on Time's swift steed. 

And every action, every word 

On this terrestial ball 
In soaring onward, all unheard. 

Works good or ill to all. 
The millions yet for earth to hail 

Will sorrow or rejoice 
In that proportion as we fail 

To hear the Conscience Voice. 

Old Custom's laws have set the pace, 

And Custom's voice has still'd 
Dissenting murmurs of the race 

Whenever it so will'd. 
Where'er the stronger class has gone. 

The weak, with sigh and groan. 
Right in that pathway stumbled on 

Afraid to be alone. 



GREEN MOU.NTAIN CHIMES. 103 

Still, in this age of deep research, 

The sages, passing by, 
Steer clear of Custom's airy perch 

Lest he should blind their eye. 
And he, fair target for their scorn, 

Views, haughtily their route ; 
And while he taunts them with his horn, 

They seldom dare to shoot. 

O, for the day when ev'ry man 

Will have a thought apart 
From Custom's detrimental plan ! 

When Virtue, Skill and Art 
Will not be driven east and west, 

As far as they can go. 
From gilded streets, where W^ealth is dressed 

To look at Fashion's show. 

Yes, for a day when Conscience's voice 

Will turn the wayward back. 
And for the spirit's earthly choice 

Mark one straight, narrow track. 
Then Superstition's magic wand 

Will not be waved so strong, 
Or drop from out the withered hand 

That swayed the world so long. 

By actions, not by words, we swing 

The sweetest bell that's swung. 
Oh, wherefore judge of Life's deep spring 

By force of throat and lung ? 
Both in the temple and the street — 

In the most holy place, 
Some will pretend, who pray for meat, 

To pray alone for grace. 



104 GREEN MOUNTAIN CHIMES. 

This, mixed with Superstition's drug, 

Makes up a draught for man 
That causes him to fondly hug 

Deception's empty can. 
And worse than all, more to enslave. 

This slow-decaying force 
Has made the weak fanatic rave 

About the world's divorce. 

The heart with powers, in its deep, 

By God and Nature planned, 
Has often poured down in a heap, 

Its wealth upon the sand. 
Where many thousands stand and view 

The priceless, wasted store. 
To come next day, themselves, and strew 

Their own gems on that shore. 

When voice of Conscience does begin 

By mortals to be heard. 
Dark, blighting shadows charged with sin 

Will vanish at its word. 
Old Superstitions still deceive 
r^^ll The sagest in the strife, 
And bind the hands that would unweave 

The tangled web of life. 

Let every thinker own with shame 

While creeping from the mire. 
That man's mad folly fanned to flame 

The Inquisition fire. 
And those who prate of grace and love 

To earn a livelihood, 
Let them seek favor from above, 

Themselves, by doing good. 




So one day fair when the ships set sail." 

Page gS. 



GRliliN MOUNTAIN CHiMKS. 105 

The tongue, with many tales of hell 

And old Satanic strife, 
Bars youth fjorn understanding well 

The motives of his life ; 
For while Deception drives her pair 

And pictures Truth a lie, 
Meek Virtue pays her regular fare. 

And Custom winks .lis eye. 

The eyes, that stop to look around 

In every field behold 
Some sleek and sanctimoniows hound 

Upon the track of golo 
He never whines nor yelps-aloud 

His course to give away, 
But barks and whimpers in the crowd 

To fascinate his prey. 

A thousand swinging tongues will prate, 

A million voices buzz. 
Yet, man should form his estimate 

Of man by what man does. 
Right minds, on God's great mission sent, 

Should life's wrong phase disclose^ 
And never read man's tempevment 

All, in his noisy shows. 

Let honest voices raise the praise 

Of him who strives for right 
Till Virtue's torches, ail ablaze. 

Light Superstition's night. 
Then doubting mortals, with all speed, 

Will wisely make a choice 
Between some dim sepulchral creed 

And Conscience's living voice. 



106 GREEN MOUNTAIN CHIMES. 



YOU COULD NOT KNOW. 

I gaze at your picture and often sigh 

For the touch of your hand — for the days gone by. 

I long to be near you once again 

Away from the vulgar strife of men. 

But though you would ever be kind and good, 

You would not know and you never could. 

The brook would not sing the same sad song 

For you as for me, as we strayed along ; 

Your eye would not see in the bearded sheaf — 

In the drooping fiow'r and falling leaf — 

The sure decay mine often would; 

You would not know and you never could. 

You would whisper freely your simple thought 
Of friends and fashions — of dresses bought. 
Your eye might sparkle — your fair cheek burn 
When to grief and wrong that thought would turn, 
You perhaps would cry in this deeper mood, 
Still you would not know and you never could. 

Your ear has not heard Nature's iinest string, 
Your lips have not tasted at Life's deep spring. 
There has not been in your temperate soul 
Love's tropic heat nor Hate's arctic cold. 
Your feet have not wandered vvliere mine have stood, 
You would not know and you never could. 



GREEN MOUNTAIN CHIMES. 107 

No grief has strengthened your calm desire, 
Nor fanned into flame the passions' fire. 
Your small delight of life's pictured page 
Is a childish joy in the breast of age. 
Though for all you are pure and good, 
You would not know and you never could. 

Your heart has trusted in song and prayer, 

While mine unbidden strayed far from there, 

Into the wilderness of strife — 

Into the jungles of Death and Life. 

You have never wandered from Faith's greenwood ; 

You would not know and you never could. 



MY FIRST DISTRICT SCHOOL. 

We all look back on days gone by 

When some fair, heavenly hand 
Hung every gloomy hall of life 

With pictures strangely grand. 
Thus glowed earth's v/aiis when starting out, 

With register and rule, 
I proudly sought the Vv-orld's applause 

In my first district school. 

That time committeemen were grand, 

We early heard from them : 
The knowledge that they could command 

Amazed the youth — a-hem ! 
They all had sailed on Lemning's sea ; 

Myself, adrift, a fool. 

Saw with sinking heart the end 

Of my first district school. 



108 GREEN MOUNTAIN CHIMES. 

Still hours and clays went on apace 

Until inquisitive youth 
Began to struggle at the font 

With conhdence and truth. 
The second week were cast away 

The birch and hardwood rule, 
From thence Love did the governing 

In my irst district school 

The superintendent came one day, 

A man with knowledge stored. 
Each time a scholar sadly tripped 

He looked a trifle bored. 
It seemed like some wierd phantasy ; 

Myself (unwilling tool), 
Lived through an age that afternoon. 

In my first district school. 

But now of all that's done and learned 

I know at last the worth, 
And feel that sweet remembrance 

Is man's best book on earth. 
In it I view again the forms 

On haggled bench and stool 
Impatient for the toil to end 

Like those in life's great school. 

Strange everything of earth must end, 

And now naught can I say 
Upon this page, dear absent friends 

To picture that <'last day." 
I humbly trust that all v>'ho mind 

The great and golden rule 
Will hail with equal joy the close 

Of life's routrli training schooL 



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